And So Kyoya Met Her
by ellieq
Summary: Kyoya forgetting his glasses and arriving late for the Host Club? Something is on the Shadow King's mind, or would that be, someone?
1. Chapter 1: A day without glasses

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Kyoya's hand shot out from under his 1,000-thread count silk sheets, slamming down hard on the blinking red snooze button. _One more hour_ , he wanted to groan. Though, of course, today that would be impossible, seeing as he had to get to school for his first class at 7:30.

Ugh! If only he hadn't stayed out so late with Fuyumi last night, he might have been able to get home before 1 am in the morning. And then he had had to plan today's club activities, call to make sure his sister had gotten home safely, and finish his all his homework.

Ugh. Begrudgingly, Kyoya finished his inner grumbling and stuck his head out of his covers at 7:00 sharp. Without looking up, he felt around his bedside table for his glasses.

What?!

That was strange. He sat up to get a clearer view, though how much better that made the situation was debatable, seeing as his world had diminished to a colorful blur.

Hmmm, I must have left them at Fuyumi's house yesterday, he mused.

Unperturbed, he reached for the spare pair he always kept in his bedside drawer…

Huh?!

A realization like a bolt of lightning hit him as he realized that the pair he had been wearing _had_ been his spare, as Tamaki had broken his regular pair last month during a club event.

The sound of a car's engine purred up beneath his window. That meant his limo was here.

Dammit, he thought. It would be too late to find a replacement now. Pulling back the covers, he stood up to get dressed and grab his books.

 _I guess I'll be going to school like this_.

Taking the stairs two steps at a time, Kyoya scooted around the wing where his father's room was. Luckily, he managed to successfully make it to the door without running into the strict Ootori family patriarch. But as he strode out the front door, a small thought nagged at him. It wasn't like him at all to let things slip through the cracks…

…

"Oh, who is that?" "A new kid?" "You know, that looks kind of like…"

"Kyoya-sempai?!"

Kyoya was greeted with an exclamation of shock as he entered the doors of Music Room 3 ten minutes late. All day, he had been the topic of whispers and hushed conversations as he walked through the halls at school. Even with his blurred vision, he could tell that people were staring at him as he walked by, but now even in the host club?

"Not you guys, too," he said flatly, pushing past them to pick up his clipboard. He reached to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose by way of habit, only to pause and realize they weren't there. The rest of the host club stared.

"I forgot my glasses at Fuyumi's house yesterday," he offered as explanation.

"Oh, that's terrible, Kyo-san!" cried Honey, hugging Usa-chan to his chest.

"Yes, how will you participate in the commoner's spot-the-difference game if you can't even see!" cried Tamaki.

"Maybe you _won't_ be able to participate in the contest," suggested the Hitachiin twins, sidling up with more courage now. They seemed to have thought that without his glasses, Kyoya wouldn't be able to give them his usual glasses-sheened glare.

Kyoya flashed them a look. Ahh! Karou jumped behind Hikaru. Clearly, they were sadly mistaken.

Aha-ha-ha-ha! A flash of lightning flashed through the room. "He's got new powers, too!" cried Kaoru, cowering behind Hikaru.

"Guys, it's just Renge," deadpanned Haruhi, pointing out the obvious.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Renge's high-powered motor spiraled her up to the top of her platform. She leaned down to regard her cowering subjects. " _Just_ Renge, I see. If it were anyone but you who had said that, Haruhi, it would have been inexcusable, got it?" She glared around the room.

"But seeing as it was you…" she flashed Haruhi a flirtatious smile.

"What are you doing here, Renge-san?" asked Tamaki, gaining his courage to confront their club manager.

"As it just so happens, Tamaki and the Hitachiins are right!" cried Renge. ("Never thought I'd hear her say that," whispered Mori to Hunny).

"In this club, you are the _megane_ , or the glasses character. And do I see you wearing glasses today?" Renge asked pointedly. "No!" she cried. "The answer is no!"

"All the fine young ladies of this school come to this club for the cool, _glasses_ character, so until you are back to wearing your glasses, I, as your club manager, decree that your position in the club be postponed indefinitely!"

"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Finishing her spiel, Renge spiraled back down on her podium.

"Wow," mouthed Haruhi. "Harsh."

"Looks like she finally got her revenge…" whispered Hikaru.

"for spurning her earlier," finished Kaoru, referencing the event that had occurred when Renge had first moved to Japan.

A bead of sweat dropped over Kyoya's face. He had never taken Renge to be the vengeful type. But, of course, everyone could be vengeful when the right item was on the line…

Seeing the distress on his friend's face, Tamaki rushed to Kyoya's side.

"Wait! It's ok, Kyoya! I didn't mean it like that!"

"Yeah, here Kyoya-sempai, you can use a magnifying glass!" Hunny chimed in helpfully.

Kyoya put his hand up. "No, she's right," he said. "I appreciate the sentiments, but it would be detrimental to club profits if I, as the glasses character, weren't wearing my glasses. Not to mention if I tripped and accidentally broke any of our delicate, priceless artifacts…" he said, alluding to Haruhi's arrangement. "That would have no merits at all."

"Jerk," muttered Haruhi.

Shrugging, he sat back down and picked up his clipboard as everyone stared at his very un-Kyoya-like attitude. "I guess I'll just have to sit this one out today," Kyoya said.

…

Huh. Kyoya sighed as he watched the other hosts lead their guests in a game of spot-the-difference. Currently, Tamaki's group was gathered around two versions of Monet's famous _Water Lillies_ , while Kyoya took a lonely seat at the back of the club room. Just yesterday, he had gotten the authentic version flown in from a museum in Paris and made the necessary arrangements for his Tachibana to purchase a counterfeit from the commoner's supermarket. Although a part of him wished to take part in what was evidently just a simple test of one's 20th century art knowledge, another part of him had settled into the observer's role quite nicely, if he did say so himself.

"…And this one has a lilac petal while the other one is blue!" The girl who had just gone turned to Tamaki. "Did I get it right?" she beamed.

"Oh, lovely princess, what a great eye you have," Tamaki complimented the girl as he tilted her head up. She blushed furiously. When he wanted to, Tamaki really could turn on the charm.

"Now, which one of these is Hikaru's?" the twins asked in unison, shuffling themselves around while holding their paintings. Evidently, they had adapted the day's club activities into their own little game.

"Haruhi, I think this one has an extra cluster of circles," one of Haruhi's customer pointed out, to which her smiling host nodded in affirmation.

"Looks like you're correct!" said Haruhi.

"Now, which of these do you think is chocolate?" asked Hunny, bypassing his paintings to examine his assortment of cakes.

Ah, everything seemed to be going on track without him, Kyoya thought, as he turned back to his notebook. And yet...

He clenched his fist just a tiny bit in frustration, unable to concentrate. Without his glasses on, reading the tiny, carefully printed script on his club ledger had become a hassle. He closed the cover and set it down, seeing no merit in going over it now rather than later, when he wouldn't get a migraine out of it, too.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temples. What had gotten into him?

One moment he was perfectly fine as the cold, meticulously calculating Shadow king of the host club, and the next he was misplacing his glasses like a common idiot.

Honestly, what had gotten into him? he thought again.

"Hey, there. You're not playing either, huh?" A female voice next to him snapped him out of his rumination. Without asking, she sat down on the seat beside him, her long, dark hair wafting the scent of cinnamon in his direction.

"I'm Nanako, by the way. Nanako Shouji," she supplied.

Oh, right. That.


	2. Chapter 2: A Conversation

"I'm Nanako Shouji," the woman sitting down next to Kyoya said.

Kyoya involuntarily took a sharp intake of breath as he looked up at her. From this angle, with the gleaming bright rays of sunlight pouring in through the host club windows and reflecting off of her espresso brown waves, voluminous dark lashes, and shiny cherry red lips, it almost seemed as if she were being outlined by a soft and thrumming halo of light.

 _Like an angel_ , Kyoya thought dreamily.

"So…do you have a name?"

Kyoya was shaken out of his reverie as she sat down on the finely upholstered Louis XV chair next to him and reached over his lap to pour herself some tea. Her Ginori tea set of choice, a fine, powder pink porcelain, clinked lightly with the lilac-patterned Ishini teapot she had chosen as she touched spout to brim.

"Oh-Ootori," Kyoya replied, trying to remember how to speak. "Kyoya Ootori." He made to bow a bit in his seat, albeit it awkwardly bending at the waist, but at least he wasn't letting his host club manners entirely escape him.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Shouji." He added cordially, finally forming a coherent sentence.

"Likewise," Nanako smiled, her ruby red lips turning up just the slightest bit more on the right side so as to almost look like a smirk.

" _Kyoya_."

Mmmm. Kyoya thought he felt an unexpected jolt in his chest as he heard her say his name out loud, although that would be utterly ridiculous because he heard his regular customers refer to him by name all the time, as well as Tamaki, Haruhi, and all the other members of the host club.

But there was just something about the way that _she_ had said it, as if his name were the tea that she was swishing around in her teacup, swirling across her tongue to unpack the richness, and carefully trying out to get the full taste, that made it all the more magical. He wanted her to say it again.

"Na—Ms. Shouji," Kyoya stopped himself before he broke host club etiquette. Immediately, he chided himself. Just because she could call him by his name didn't mean he could do the same. He was but just a host, after all.

"Hmm?" Nanako looked up, giving him her full attention through her long, black lashes. Again, that intoxicating cinnamon smell of her hair wafted towards him…

"So, what brings you to the host club?" he asked her, shaking his head to clear it of her scent and forcing himself to concentrate.

"Oh, well, you know," she answered off-handedly, turning her eyes towards her tea and sweeping her gaze around the room. As if taking in all the beauty and grandeur of the sparkling crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling renaissance windows, and curtained-off column that concealed the grand piano all at once, a faint smile played on her lips.

"It's -just mere curiosity on my part," she assured him, waving her hand dismissively.

"I was just passing through the area, touring all the major prep schools in Tokyo, and Ouran Academy just happens to be one of the best," her voice sounded strained at the end, but Kyoya didn't press.

He nodded, agreeing with her. If one had the money and the means, why wouldn't they want their child to go to Ouran Academy, the most prestigious private school in the entire district?

Although, now that he thought about it, Nanako did seem a bit out of place here with her sheer white Chanel blouse, sleek and simple A-line pencil skirt, and high-heeled penny loafers straight from the runways of Paris. It wasn't bad out of place, per se, but from the way she talked, the way she dressed, and the tiny, nearly imperceptible mannerisms of hers he had picked up on, it did seem as if she were too mature and sophisticated for this institution to handle. Perhaps, for all of Japan.

"Huh-huh," Nanako laughed nervously, a first for the bright and bubbly woman Kyoya had made her out to be since the start of their interaction. Tucking a stray strand of dark espresso hair behind her ear, she turned back to him.

"So, how about you?" she turned the questioning back on him, instantly regaining the light cheerfulness to her voice.

"What made you join the host club?"

Huh? Oh, right. Kyoya looked down at his uniform, the same light blue, Ouran-crested blazer as usual with matching black slacks that denoted him a student at the Ouran Academy high school. Just a student. A high school student. A second-year, to be exact.

"Uh…well…" Kyoya scrambled to find words, his mind somehow already having wandered back over to the topic of Nanako's mysterious shampoo. What could it be? Sandalwood? Vanilla? Citrus? No, maybe a blend of each. Maybe none. But there was definitely, _definitely_ and without a doubt a hint of cinnamon in there.

"I, uh," Kyoya stalled for time, fully aware that he sounded like a bumbling idiot.

"Well, why does anyone decide to become a host?"

He threw her question back at her. There. In times of crisis, Kyoya found that rhetorical questions were often the way to go, since they both made one seem sophisticated and contemplative and bought one time to formulate an actual answer.

Well, what would it be? Kyoya went through his options as quickly as he could, trying not to exhaust Nanako's attentive stare. He could give her Tamaki's usual spiel on "making every girl happy"… Or his justifications to his father's business associates that he was learning how to run a business from the ground up… Or, perhaps his own personal answer…

"It's for the ladies," he finally blurted out.

 _No!_ That came out wrong. In an alternate cartoon reality out there somewhere, a mini chibi version of Kyoya was being electrocuted by lightning, squished to a pulp, and left to sob a river of humiliated tears in the corner. He had _not_ meant to say that.

Might as well declare him a dead man and bury him now, he thought, trying to melt through the seat cushion of his cream-colored upholstered chair. What was it that their idiot king, Tamaki, always did? Gelify! Right, he could do that, too. Right onto the gleaming tiled floor, out through cracks under the heavy, ornate doors, and all the way home where he could bury himself in bed and never face the world again.

He almost didn't dare peek at what Nanako's reaction was.

"Huh-huh." It was her tinkling laugh.

What? Looking over through the fringes of his hair, he saw that, contrary to the disgusted, abhorring, or at least off-put expression he had been expecting to see, she was actually smiling.

"Honest," was all she said, and this time, there was no doubting that she was giving him a real, full-out smirk.

"Well, _Kyoya_ , since you've been discharged from your usual hosting duties, how would you like to be in the company of _me_ as my own personal tour guide to Tokyo for the week?"

Huh? Kyoya did a double-take again. He reached for the non-existent glasses that usually sat on the ridge of his nose as if that would clear his ears. Even the usually fast-thinking finances master of the host club couldn't quite wrap his head around how the conversation had ended up here.

"Uhh…sure," his mouth said as his brain floated away to some deliriously happy disassociated state. Cloud 9, it seemed, was what they called.

"Great!" Nanako broke out into a smile. "It's a date then!"

Setting down her teacup, she smiled again at Kyoya before heading for the door. She was already almost halfway there by the time he remembered that he probably should have gotten up to walk her.

Standing up abruptly, he rushed in her direction now, fully planning on overtaking her with his long, bounding strides so he could get to the large, heavy doors of the music room before her to hold them for her.

Before he could, however, she spun around on the spot, her skirt swirling around just enough to make his breath hitch in his throat and his feet to stop in their tracks.

"It was nice meeting you, by the way," she called back to him, her half-smile back on her lips. Giving a mock two-fingered salute and cocking her head the tiniest bit to the side, the last words on her lips echoed through his brain long after she'd uttered them.

" _Kyoya_."

Then, without looking back, Nanako Shouji walked right out the door of Music Room 3 and left the Shadow king, for perhaps the first time ever in his life, completely and utterly flustered.


	3. Chapter 3: A Visit

"Shouji…shouji…"

Kyoya muttered to himself, repeating her name over and over again as he twirled his pencil between his fingers.

For Kyoya, yesterday had passed like a blur (both due to his literal lack of optical utensils and his figurative lack of focus), and such an occurrence wasn't to be taken lightly when it came to the host club's normally meticulous and calculated Shadow King. Of course, if he was being honest, what it all came down to was that girl who had appeared at the host club after school yesterday with her cherry-tinted lips and cinnamon-scented curls he could just sink his whole face into.

Judging by her non-standard issue shimmery white blouse and flowy black skirt, she had most definitely not been an Ouran student, and had probably even been older than him. (What, maybe 18? 19? 20?) Nonetheless, when she had come over to sit next to him on the host club's 18th century baroque-padded chairs at the back of a luminously-lit Music Room 3, she had rendered him, if not entirely speechless, at least a completely and utterly thought-jumbled fool unable to think straight.

Of course, now that he was alone in his room again, Kyoya had returned to his usual calm and collected demeanor, able to talk again and easily pull up his file on the Shouji family's history from the meticulously organized filing cabinet of his brain.

As he began pacing the length of his room, he silently recited it to himself.

The Shoujis: owners of Shouji General, one of Japan's leading oil companies. Only rose to prominence in the last generation, but have already established industry connections that allow them to associate in Japan's premier social circles. Nanako Shouji: only daughter of Mr. Shouji, currently 19 years of age. Net worth: over 20 million yen set aside for her in her family's trust fund. Total assets: over 200 billion yen to be inherited should she take over her father's company. Currently living in Tokyo, but rumored to be studying under a private tutor so she could travel with her family…

 _Hmmmm, I wonder whether she's part of a marriage arrangement yet…_ Kyoya's thoughts drifted as he absent-mindedly toyed with a trinket on his bedside table. It was just a turtle made out of tiny cowrie shells that Fuyumi had gotten him on her honeymoon, but it somehow comforted him to have it on his otherwise plain and utilitarian bedside. Ah, it was so like Fuyumi to get something so small and merit-less, he mused, setting it down to pace around again.

Ow! Kyoya was shaken out of his reverie as he jammed his toe into the side of his bed. He had jammed it _hard_. Jumping up and down on one leg, he cradled his throbbing foot as a dozen foul thoughts flitted across his mind. Damn these stupid square-edged bed frames, he cursed. And damn the world of well-visioned people, too, he added for good measure, though it made no sense.

Sighing, he sat down at his desk again, where he would no longer be a hazard to himself or society. Checking his inbox on his PineApple laptop, his brow furrowed at seeing it was still empty. Although he had contacted his optician's shop the previous morning, he had yet to receive a reply.

No matter. He could still read basic numerals and kanji without his glasses on. Massaging his throbbing foot, he turned back to his task at hand, squinting at the sheet of dancing lines and variables before him. He tried to remind himself that he had to do his homework to maintain his number 1 rank, usually the only motivation he needed to get to work, but today he couldn't even bring himself to pick up his pencil again. It seemed that no matter what he did, his mind was still lingering on the events of yesterday afternoon.

Ughh. He groaned inwardly. Why was it that ever since that Nanako girl had showed up in his life, he couldn't stop acting like an idiot in front of her? And why was it that what should have been a nice, relaxing afternoon away from the crazy antics of the host club was becoming just as disastrous and infuriating as if they had been here?

 _Knock. Knock_. Kyoya was shaken out his thoughts for the second time that day by a knock on his door.

Whew. He took a deep breath to collect himself so he would at least appear put together before his household staff.

"Yes, come in," he called as he straightened his shirt, looking to the door as it creaked open.

An average-sized woman with a graying bun and straight-stick posture stood on the other side.

"Master Kyoya," his head maid bowed. "Miss Nanako-sama has just arrived."


	4. Chapter 4: A Day Out part 1

What?! Kyoya gave a start, trying to wrap his head around the fact that the very girl he had just been thinking about had suddenly appeared at his house. Sure, she had mentioned him being her tour guide for the week, but surely she had just been kidding, right?

His mind raced as he sprang up from his chair, hurriedly changing into a fresh cotton button-down so he would at least look presentable before his unexpected guest. Taking the steps three at a time, he practically flew down the grand staircase and into the main hall, barely having time to catch his breath before swinging open the door.

"Miss—" he caught himself as he suddenly found his nose just inches from her face, unable to move his lips lest he accidentally brush them against her wavy brown hair. Despite his best efforts, he involuntarily inhaled, his nose greeted with her perpetual sweet and spicy cinnamon-y scent that never failed to temporarily shut down his brain.

"Ummm…" they stood in silent motionless for a moment, him at a loss of words again and too paralyzed to move forward or backwards to end the awkwardness. Today, she was wearing a light blue blouse that was fastened at the neck with an intricate-looking floppy bow design of sorts (naturally, the Hitachiins would know what it was called), again a simple black A-line skirt, though today's seemed even flowy-er that yesterday's had been, and of course, a shiny pair of high-heeled penny loafers.

"Hi, Kyoya," Nanako said after a moment, again being the one to end the tension. She took a step back from the titanium-lined threshold of the doorway and gestured at his waiting limo. (Thank goodness he had at least had the sense to call his driver during his 3-minute rush out the door).

"Shall we?"

Kyoya gulped and nodded mutely, giving her two thumbs up in lieu of a verbal response.

…

Sitting in the back of the limo, Kyoya could hear the soft sound of the engine humming, which was, in fact, the only sound that could be heard throughout the entire dark black interior of his swanky leather-lined car.

"So…Ms. Shouji," Kyoya cleared his throat, trying to break the silence that hung as heavy as smog in the air before it decided to become a permanent resident.

"Which part of Tokyo are you most excited to see today?" he asked, pulling out the tourist's map he had off-handedly stuffed into his back pocket before they had left. Examining the lines, creases, and well-illustrated diagrams that he hadn't referred to since Tamaki had first come to Japan, he tried to map out a route in his head so they would at least have a good trip today.

"Well, Japan is known for its historical temples, right?" Nanako leaned over Kyoya's shoulder to get a better look at his map.

Kyoya nodded judiciously. "That is a main draw for many tourists who come to Japan, yes."

"Well," Nanako pointed her finger at the gray-colored triangular image that took up most of Azabudai square. "I have always wanted to visit the Shakaden temple."

She smiled at seeing the small pictograph, and, though probably unbeknownst to her, Kyoya saw the light in her eyes brighten at the prospect.

"Yes, of course," he said hurriedly, growing awkward at her lingering proximity and instinctively reverting back to down-to-business mode. He reached forward for the divider and rapped gently on it twice.

 _Bzzzzr_. The small square of window separating him from the driver came down to the familiar whirring of its hidden motor.

"To the Shakaden temple, please," he said once the divider had been rolled down enough for the driver to hear him.

"Yes, Master Kyoya," he received in reply. Then, with the same smooth and mechanical slow whoosh that had announced its descent, the window went back up again, leaving him once again alone and in silence with Nanako.

* * *

Beep! Beep!

Kyoya looked up as yet another in-a-hurry driver tried to maneuver her way around their mini stretch limo only to fail miserably and exacerbate the extent of their already-congested little intersection.

Sigh. They had already been stuck in traffic for over half an hour, and at this rate, they would be lucky to reach the temple by sundown.

Sorry, Nanako, he thought to say, glancing over at the languorous-looking girl sitting next to him. Having started out their trip full of enthusiasm and brightness, she was now slumped against the leather-cushioned seats of the car, her arms propped up against the tops of the seats and her eyes gazing out of the window.

Low in spirits, his shoulders slumped at the thought that he wouldn't be able to fulfill his duties as her host and to get her to the temple she had been so excited about seeing.

Grumble, grumble.

Oh, shoot. Both Kyoya and Nanako's eyes flew to her stomach, the obvious source of the noise in the otherwise quiet limo.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Nanako blushed in embarrassment, instinctively putting a hand to her growling belly.

"I…had a light lunch is all," she said at the same time Kyoya asked, "When was the last time you ate?"

Following the sudden burst of overlap in their speech, they both said nothing and sat quietly for a moment.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," Kyoya said, finally breaking the silence. He glanced down at his silver Rolex watch, almost shaking it to make sure it still worked. That did it. They hadn't moved a foot in the past five minutes.

"Let's find some place to eat, first, and then we can worry about sightseeing," he decided, always the practical one.

Of course, he knew what it was like not getting enough sleep on any given day (Tangriness, he called it), but he could only imagine the effects of not getting enough nourishment on a person, as well. He shuddered. He was not about to let that happen.

Pulling out his map again, he tried to figure out where they were. Although usually good with directions, his driver had taken a different route than the one he was used to today, and he traced his fingers along the colorful lines and texts trying to get his bearings.

"There's got to be a nice restaurant or café or at least a commoners' supermarket around here somewhere," he muttered to himself, trying to figure out the most efficient way to get his guest some food. Which place would be better? This one, or this one?

"Hey, look!" Kyoya's meticulous calculations were stopped short by a gentle but firm tugging on his wrist.

Looking up, he craned his neck to see what she was pointing at. He squinted through the tinted black windows of the car, but all he could see was a milling of commoners and their young schoolchildren, laughing and running about as most young schoolchildren do. There was no sign of any eating establishment anywhere.

"Ummm…" Kyoya couldn't quite seem to make out what had gotten Nanako so excited. "…an alley?"

"No, silly, _that_ ," she redirected his attention upwards, to where a giant spinning wheel of metal was turning slowly round and round against the sky. Oh.

"A Ferris wheel," he breathed, feeling like an idiot for not having seen it upon first glance. "Commonly found in street fairs."

Huh. How odd that he hadn't heard anything about it earlier, Kyoya thought to himself, although he supposed that it made sense given that even commoners needed a way to entertain themselves when they weren't able to just jet set out of the country on vacation as most rich people were.

Eee! Amusingly, Kyoya looked beside him to see that, despite the event's original target demographic, the daughter and heiress to one of Japan's most leading oil companies, was practically dancing in her seat in excitement.

"Yeah, a street fair," she grinned, the brightness in her eyes instantly returning. "And I'm sure we can find some food there! C'mon!"

Pushing her hand against the car door, she was out and bounding away down the street before Kyoya could remind her not to jump out of a moving vehicle.

Although, who was he kidding. In the monstrous jam they had gotten themselves into, their limo had still yet to move an inch. After kindly informing their driver that they would now be getting off here, and to perhaps circle the block (or just stay right where he was) for the next ten minutes or so, he opened his door leisurely, scooted his long-limbed body out of the car, and stepped right out into the chaotic bustle of 0-percent moving traffic.


End file.
